


Fifteen Questions to Ask your Perfect Pale Pal

by DynamicThesaurus



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25259338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DynamicThesaurus/pseuds/DynamicThesaurus
Summary: Sometimes you just need to write some fluff, you know?
Relationships: Folykl Darane & Kuprum Maxlol, Folykl Darane/Kuprum Maxlol
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Fifteen Questions to Ask your Perfect Pale Pal

The two of you are halfway down the street when Folykl whacks you on the shoulder. The action nearly causes you to walk straight into a nearby power pole, but she shoves her battered palmhusk in your face before you can react with more than a startled jerk. As your eyes focus on the screen you can’t help grinning.

The site she’s got open on Goregle is cheesy as hell: a four-quadrant logo in the top left corner, patterns of interlocked diamonds covering the background. The sort of site a wiggler goes to for their first flush crush.

Folykl can’t fully appreciate the total normcore vibes with those pits of hers, of course, but the text-to-screech on her palmhusk is clearly enough for her to get the gist of it. She moves one side of her headphones so she can talk to you.

“Check it… _fifteen… questions. To ask. Your perfect…pale pal: …how to know…if they are really ‘the one’_ ” she quotes, then sticks two fingers down her throat, giggling quietly as you snicker.

“LOL! Gossip site for normies reeling people in with dumbass questions as usual, who’s fucking surprised.”

She snorts, scrolling down and listening for a moment before pulling a face. “Not even…good ones. _'What’s…your moirails… favourite food’_.”

You pretend to think about it. “Other than bulge?”

She hits you, and you cackle. “Pssh, easy question. Anyone south of Outglut knows it’s those oinkbeasts-in-snuggleplanes they make down by the mall.”

“Damn…right. Only good shit…in this place,” Folykl agrees. Her stomach growls as she considers it, and she paws at your sleeve until you groan and fish a stale snack bar out of your pocket.

“You can have half, now gimme another one.”

She crams the food into her mouth, talking around it with pieces flying everywhere. Your pusher squirms happily at the sight. “What…would I buy…with a million caegars.”

“Probably a grilled beastmeat store.”

She swallows, just so she can show her displeasure by sticking out her tongue. “Ew…no. Too much work. I’d just buy the food…and some gaming equipment. New recuperacoon. I’m sick of sharing with your twitchy ass.”

You flap a hand and adjust the straps of the backpack on your shoulders. “Eh, close enough.”

“Favourite…piling position.” Hah, that’s kinky. You look up at Folykl, and her lips twist in a mix of disgust and amusement that says she thinks the same. “We sure…this is…for moirails?”

“Tfw the fuckers who write these don’t know what quadrants are. With your nasty ass halfway IN the pile, how else.”

She doesn’t deny it, though you get the sense that she’d be rolling her eyes if she could. “These questions…are stupid……you read one.”

You pluck the phone out of her hand, scrolling down. “Mfw it’s asking how I like to be comforted when I’m sad or upset. Like I’d ever get sad, total loser move.”

Folykl scoffs. Rather than calling you out on your bluff, she sinks both hands into your hair. Broken claws scratch kindly but firmly at your scalp between each set of horns. She digs in right where the psionic headaches start after you’ve overexerted yourself and you chirr reflexively.

“FUCK yes.” You lean into her hands with a trill that would be embarrassing if anyone else was around, but then she pulls them away and you groan. “Come on.”

“…Loser. What’s... mine?”

"Food, all the blankets in the hive, and an hour or two of pwning losers on the normie forums. GG EZ you’re straight back to chilling.”

“Huh…he learns…” Folykl says to no one in particular, and you snort.

“What’s my favourite thing I own and why?”

“This…dumb thing.” Folykl tugs at the straps of your headgear and you hiss as the conduction needles shift beneath your skin, stinging. You swat her hands away.

“’Course it is, you know how long it took to get this shit custom made? Not counting dragging the old helm schematics up off the empire sites. Losers thought they could keep it away from me.”

“You’ve told me ….so many times…”

You roll your eyes. “You like your headphones, lol.”

“Wrong again, dumbass.”

“What, really?” You crane your neck to look up at her, surprised.

She grins nastily, and you know you’ve been duped in the moment before she flicks one of your outer horns. “I own… you.”

You throw her off into the closest trash bin, but it doesn’t stop her laughter, especially when she flings a piece of rotting fruit at your face and you momentarily dissolve into trash-slinging warfare.

She smacks you with a stinkfruit peel and laughs until she starts coughing, chest heaving in heavy gulps like she might throw up. You start towards her, but she holds up a hand and takes slow breaths. Then abruptly she lurches to the side and coughs up mucus onto the ground.

“Gross,” she mumbles. You help her back to her feet.

When she slumps against your chest you can feel her heart hammering across the connection, and she drains from you so fast that it makes you momentarily lightheaded. She brushes off your concern with a shrug and paps your cheek idly; you relax somewhat, picking a piece of bread out of her hair. She has good nights and bad nights, but right now her touch is warm and sure.

You forget about the questionnaire for a while after that. It’s too hard to walk and read at the same time, especially as you get deeper into midblood territory and start having to plan your route around the patrolling drones. Folykl falls quiet too, resting her cheek against the top of the backpack with her hair pulled over in front of her face. The action is meant to hide the rot from nosey trolls, but has the side effect of leaving her looking like something out of a cheap horror flick. You kind of love it. One of her horns bumps against the back of your head with each step.

The energy transfer ebbs and flows, steady, like the two of you are breathing in sync.

Hours later you arrive hive again. Folykl is a gentle weight against your side as the two of you lounge in your wires-and-snuggleplanes pile: true to form, she’s nestled so deeply into it her legs are nearly hidden. Her attention is elsewhere. She’s busy playing some rhythm game on her palmhusk, fingers tapping idly against the screen, and so thinks nothing of it when you pull out your husktop.

The site is even cheesier on desktop. Diamonds float down from wherever you put your selection squeakbeast, and the questions come up in round, bubbly text that jumps as you hover over it.

You nudge her with an elbow. She doesn’t glance up from where her fingers are tapping away, just hums distractedly. Score. “Hey, Fol.”

“Yea?”

“What’s my favourite colour?”

“Pink. You say... fuchsia, but you…actually think. It’s too bright.” Her voice is absentminded. She hasn’t missed a beat on the game—honestly, it’s kind of incredible how she manages to be so good at it without traditional sight.

“Worst habit?”

“You…snort. When you laugh.” Folykl snickers a little and idly shifts closer. With a sudden desperation your pusher clenches and you wonder if she pities you the same way you do her.

You wonder if she feels that all-consuming ache that makes you want to shield her from the misery of the universe with your own limbs, that makes you want to burn the world to ashes every time she staggers blindly across the room or hides her rotted face in your shoulder from a teal who looks too closely.

You wonder whether her pusher gives that same one-two jolt yours does when your horns knock together.

You wonder if she knows that you would sacrifice everything for her, if given the choice.

You wonder, and you want to ask. But that’s too much to voice, too much to put into words when you look at her and see the way dark lips curl in a smile. So instead you turn your gaze back to the screen and scan down the list of questions, finding one that feels close enough to the truth, but broad enough to be safe.

“…What about me do you pity the most?”

There isn’t a second’s pause. “Everything.”

You twist around to look at her. A moment passes and Folykl lifts her head to eye your grin suspiciously, frowning; a short tune plays from her palmhusk as she fails whatever level she was on.

“…What.”

"Pity you."

She gives you a befuddled look, like she doesn't understand why you're saying it, then shrugs and leans her head on your shoulder. "You too."

"You also have some dumpster shit on your nose, lol.”

"Fuck off, Ku."

Every now and again, normie media comes up with something good.


End file.
